Bay of Spirits by Farley Mowat

Author:Farley Mowat
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781551991511
Publisher: McClelland & Stewart
Published: 2008-06-04T16:00:00+00:00

We made sail for Milltown and, not long after, raised the Hills’ boat coming our way. I hauled into the wind and the brothers came alongside. On this occasion the floating fish market provided us with two fine lobsters.

Lobsters were out of season but, as Sandy explained, “these come up hanging onto the cod net and we never had the heart to heave they overboard for fear they’d be drownded.”

Late that afternoon we moored at the Milltown wharf, where I went ashore to collect the mail. Jack had written to tell me the Seamen’s International Union wanted me to come to New York to discuss writing a book about the S.I.U. and suggesting a possible fee of forty thousand dollars–a colossal sum for a freelance writer in those times. Jack had added a caveat: “Take the money if you must…and if you want to risk ending up in a cement overcoat at the bottom of New York harbour. But get yourself another publisher.”

Although the temptation was strong, the thought of giving up Bay Despair for New York appalled me. When I broached the idea with Claire, she resolutely turned it down.

“I’ve been so happy to be away from life in a big city, Farley. Please don’t drag me back into one again.”

I never loved her more than at that moment.

Next day we sailed from Milltown, through Little Passage and across Hermitage Bay to Hermitage Cove. A short-lived but ferocious storm that broke over the cove that night did not dampen the “time” we had been promised. Enlivened by fiddles, harmonicas, and a quart or two of the white stuff, the party at Sandy Hill’s lasted until dawn.

I went on deck about ten next morning to check our mooring lines (we were lying at the dock) and was appalled to see coils of black smoke pouring out the cabin windows of the Teressa G., a big motor launch from Gaultois belonging to Garland’s stores. She too was lying alongside the wooden wharf, a scant fifty feet ahead of us. Instinct told me to let go our lines and get out of there, but I delayed in order to raise an alarm by sounding our fog horn.

Hastily roused, the crews of two big herring seiners from Nova Scotia that had come in to shelter from the storm and were moored well astern of us and the Teressa G. now saw the smoke and ran to let go their lines. Although well equipped with fire-fighting gear, they clearly had no intention of trying to save the burning vessel. I started our engine and was about to cast off when a dishevelled Claire emerged from the cabin.

The frightening pillar of smoke from the burning boat, and two lesser plumes belching from the exhaust stacks of the seiners, apprised her of what was happening. All she said was, “What can I do?”

I don’t know what was going through her mind but I could see she wasn’t going to panic so I changed my mind.

“Stand by to take Itchy to the other side of the harbour! You might have to do it on your own.

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